They say home is where the heart is. Now that Sleepwater's on the run, home is just another place to hide.
Wyomingâs Sleepwater chapter is on the run, hunted for their ability to spin a beat. With little time to mourn the members theyâve lost, Bernadette Manney takes the group to the one place she swore sheâd never see again: the cabin in Hollywood, South Carolina. Itâs remote enough to lay low and catch a break, but not for long.
Their beats are condemned as mutations, radical terrorist tactics, and felonies punishable both by and outside the law. Bernadette thought Sleepwater would be safe here, but returning to her Southern roots unleashes more demons than she left behind. Her past, her love, and even her own flesh and blood wonât let her move on through a venomous society intent on rooting out her people. Now, to bring a motherâs first child safely into an unsafe world, Bernadette must face her own shame from before Sleepwater itself was born. But redemption and forgiveness may be too much to ask, and it may just be too late.
As Blue Helix Book 2, Sleepwater Static can also be enjoyed as a standalone novel.
They say home is where the heart is. Now that Sleepwater's on the run, home is just another place to hide.
Wyomingâs Sleepwater chapter is on the run, hunted for their ability to spin a beat. With little time to mourn the members theyâve lost, Bernadette Manney takes the group to the one place she swore sheâd never see again: the cabin in Hollywood, South Carolina. Itâs remote enough to lay low and catch a break, but not for long.
Their beats are condemned as mutations, radical terrorist tactics, and felonies punishable both by and outside the law. Bernadette thought Sleepwater would be safe here, but returning to her Southern roots unleashes more demons than she left behind. Her past, her love, and even her own flesh and blood wonât let her move on through a venomous society intent on rooting out her people. Now, to bring a motherâs first child safely into an unsafe world, Bernadette must face her own shame from before Sleepwater itself was born. But redemption and forgiveness may be too much to ask, and it may just be too late.
As Blue Helix Book 2, Sleepwater Static can also be enjoyed as a standalone novel.
THERE WERE VERY few days now when something didnât hurt. Bernadette sighed as she shifted the commercial-sized van into park, knowing her knees would give her hell the minute she stepped out. She let herself sit there just a few seconds longer.
âThis is your safehouse?â In the middle row of passenger seats in the back, Cameron almost pressed his face against the window.
âItâs not officially registered or anything, if thatâs what youâre asking.â Bernadette glanced up at the rearview mirror and smirked at him. He didnât see her.
Randall nodded in the passenger seat beside her. âLooks good to me.â
âAs long as thereâs a bed big enough for this baby, Iâll be happy.â Mirela let out a long sigh and rubbed her hand in circles over her swollen belly.
Beside her in the first row of seats, her husband feigned insult. âI hope youâll let me share it with you.â
âIf itâs big enough.â Mirela turned to give him a slow, exhausted smile. âSpooningâs a little out of the question at this point, donât you think?â
Brad chuckled and rubbed her belly with her.
âOh, for fuckâs sake.â Cameron rolled his eyes but didnât turn away from the window. âGet a room.â
âThatâs literally what weâre talking about,â Mirela told him.
âYa think?â
âAll right.â Randall slapped his long, lanky thighs and opened the front passenger-side door. âLetâs check it out.â He didnât wait for anyone elseâs agreement before slipping out of the van and closing the door behind him.
Brad slid open the vanâs single back door and helped his pregnant wife out first. She groaned a little, having to duck through the doorway, and steadied herself on the side of the van when her feet landed in the dirt driveway studded with browning crabgrass. Cameron puffed out a sigh and followed after them.
Bernadette stayed in the driverâs seat, watching Don and Tony in the third row all the way in the back. The twins were still struggling with the massive wall between them, she knew. Six months on the road after theyâd broken Tony, Kaylee, Leo, and John out of that fucked-up lab, and Tony still hadnât said more than a few words a day, if that. Whatever else Vanguard Industries had done to the poor guy couldnât be summed up in any amount of words anyway, but they all got the gist of it.
Some people were just damn unlucky. Some people were snatched up from their homes or their jobs, carted off to the middle of nowhere, poked and prodded beyond imagining, and forced to endure a kind of torture she could never fathom. Tony was one of those people. He was one of even fewer whoâd had his beat stripped from him while the rest of the world lauded the excellence of scientific advancement. It was all bullshit, and every person here knew it. Tony more than any of them.
Like an amputee who hardly remembered how heâd lost his limb, the guy was still working through the scars left by that severed part of him. Bernadette wished she knew how to comfort himâboth of them. Don was just as clueless as to how to be with his twin when the entire dynamic between them had changed. But there wasnât any way to fix something like this.
The others might have known, maybe. But the others had either turned against the small tribe this faction of Sleepwater had made for themselves, or theyâd run from the pain of losing one of their own. Who was to say if any of the scattered others would come looking for them again? Bernadette wasnât a pessimist by any means, but she didnât screw around with wishful thinking, either.
The driver-side door opened, startling her out of her thoughts. A quick glance in the rearview mirror showed her only an empty seat. She hadnât even noticed the twins getting out of the van.
Randall stood there beside the open door, smirking at her, his thick, black-framed glasses slipping down over the bridge of his aquiline nose. âI donât think we can get inside without you.â
She smiled up at him. âOh, Iâm sure you could. Nobody locks their doors down here anyway. Canât remember if I did or not.â She left the keys in the ignition and pushed herself out of the driverâs seat. When Randall extended a hand to help her out, obviously expecting her to take it, she snorted and waved him off. âPut that hand away. Iâm not senile, and Iâm definitely not handicapped.â
Randall chuckled as she managed to get both of her brown loafers onto the ground. âNot yet.â
Bernadette ignored him, fighting back most of a grimace at the sharp pain in her knees but refusing to comment on them or bend to try rubbing out the pain. That never worked, anyway. Randall shut the door behind her.
âI thought anyone over sixty-five was a senior citizen,â Cameron said, his arms folded as he watched Bernadette and Randall step away from the van. The others made their way slowly toward the cabin at the end of the dirt drive. âYouâre way over that, arenât you?â
Bernadette raised an eyebrow at him and pointed. âWatch it.â
âYeah, Iâm watching.â To anyone else, Cameronâs impassive expression looked a lot like apathy and condescension. She knew him well enough to recognize the tiny flicker at the corner of his mouth that served as his small smile. âGotta make sure you donât fall and break a hip.â
âOh, Lord.â Bernadette shook her head and headed toward the cabin. When she passed Cameron, she lashed out to slap his arm with the back of her hand. âAnd if I did that, youâd still just be watching me, wouldnât you?â
âMaybe.â
She chuckled and fished around in the pocket of her denim dress. âDid you try the door?â she called to Brad and Mirela.
âItâs definitely locked.â Brad slipped his arm around his wifeâs waist and whispered something in her ear.
Mirela just shook her head with that small, tired smile. She removed one hand from her hip to wipe at the sweat on her forehead. âIs everyone else this hot, or is it just me?â
Bernadette reached the front porch with its semi-rotted wooden steps and the rocker missing one of its armrests. A sharp, painful longing twisted her gut. Karl wouldâve made fixing that chair his first job when they got here. But Karl was gone, wasnât he? And no one but Leo had gotten a chance to say goodbye.
Swallowing, she shot Mirela a sympathetic smile and nodded. âThatâs just the South in August, honey. Weâll turn the fans on first thing.â The key in her hand stuck in the doorknob for a few seconds, and she had to jiggle it a little before it finally turned. âAssuming thereâs still power running through the place.â
Mirela sighed. âOh, boy.â
âHey, weâll figure it out.â Brad rubbed her back. âIf we have to get a generator, Iâll pick one up, no problem. Not gonna let you cook in the heat, okay?â
âIâm already cookinâ.â His wife closed her eyes and took a deep breath. âAnd the timer on this kidâs gonna go off at any minute.â
The door jammed on the warped boards of the cabin floor, and when Bernadette grunted against it, Randall reached over her shoulder and gave it a little shove. The door creaked, and then it opened. Bernadette immediately stepped back and turned her head away, covering her mouth and nose. Her eyes fell on the twins, both of whom flared their nostrils and leaned away from the door. At least with something like this, they were their old, synced selves again. Theyâd be fine.
âOh, no.â Mirela heaved and waddled off the porch, followed quickly by Brad.
âAre you gonna puke?â he called after her. âCan I get you anything?â
âNot smothering me would be niceâŚâ The sound of dry heaving came from the bushes on the side of the cabin.
Cameron folded his arms again and stepped inside. âOkay, what died?â
Bernadette cleared her throat, made an effort to breathe only through her nose, and waved a hand toward the dust-covered furniture in the cabinâs main room. âJust check everywhere,â she said. âOr follow the smell. Youâll find it.â
Without a word, Cameron went to the light switch on the wall first and flipped it up. The yellow, dusty bulb in the ceiling fixture flickered then came on. âGuess thereâs power.â Then he stepped down the single step into the living room and went looking for the source of the stench.
Randall met Bernadetteâs gaze and shook his head. âNothing phases him, huh?â
âWell, almost nothing.â She fanned the air in front of her nose. âItâs been a while since Iâve smelled death like this.â
The man leaned against the outer wall just beside the door and folded his arms. âHow longâs it been since you were here?â
Bernadette ran a finger over the windowsill between the door and the rocking chair, swiping up a thick layer of dust and a few streaks of mostly dry mold. âA long time. With everything thatâs happening now, though, it feels right to come back.â
He studied her with slightly squinted eyes, the corners of his mouth lifting in a smile that was half admiration and half intense curiosity. âWeâre not here just for the safehouse, are we?â
Wiping her dirtied finger on the side of her dress, Bernadette swallowed and glanced up at him. âWell arenât you Mr. Observant.â
Randall chuckled.
Sleepwater Static is the first book I've read in this series by Kathrin Hutson, and, as the description notes, it does work as a stand-alone novel--at least until the ending. As with any good second book in a series, Sleepwater Static provides enough backstory to help a new-to-the-series reader jump in.
While dystopian literature might seem a bit grim in the midst of a pandemic, the novel is hopeful in many ways. After all, the book opens with the impending birth of Skye, and how can the birth of a new child not be seen as a metaphor for a new beginning? And, the themes and issues regarding racism and homophobia, as well as "fear of the other" are timeless. Many points in the book seem especially relevant to the current chaos in the world:
People say there's a fine line between genius and insanity. You've heard that before, right? I swear to God, Bernie, there's a fine line between everything else right now too. Love and Hate. Freedom and imprisonment. Tenderness and cruelty. The truth and so much fucking bullshit.
The book is a fast read, and even though we flip back and forth between narrative and emails, past and present, Hutson gives plenty of context clues to show us when we are in Bernie's past. The flashbacks are part of the charm--there's just enough detail here about Bernie, Darrell, Donna, and Janet to entice the reader to go back to the first novel in the series. Even with those hints to the past, though, the novel almost reads like the first in the series--that's how well-constructed the book is.
The one down-side is that the ending seems rushed and makes it such that the book is glaringly a "middle child" and part of a series. While a cliffhanger is necessary to keep a series going, this novel is so concentrated in scope--presenting one main scene in the present--that the novel feels a bit unfinished. I am hooked, though, and will keep an eye out for the third book--my main hope is it won't be long before we're reunited with Bernie and her family.
For now, I'll just have to circle back and pick up Sleepwater Beat while I wait for the next installment.